


Something Blue

by BananaCandy



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Established Relationship, Fascination, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, SERIES XII HYPE AMIRITE, Vignette, although it's probably quite a while after Legion, differences in a relationship, fluff of the highest smegging order, happy Rimmer, not sure when this is set, sadly doesn't contain Hitler jamming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaCandy/pseuds/BananaCandy
Summary: It's blue, because of course it smegging is.An introspective Rimmer contemplates life through the medium of poorly-made jewellery.(Written to celebrate the doubtless delight that will be series XII. Rimmer/Lister established.)





	Something Blue

It’s blue, because of course it smegging is.

 

It isn’t quite the blue of his signature uniform, though; more of a soft cornflower than a hard-light cobalt, it flashes at irregular intervals with violet lightning under the angled spotlight of his bunk. It’s mildly tarnished, which slightly impedes the journey of shine to his holographic eyes; just as well, really. He’ll never admit to them in the next three million years, but the tiny thrills of contentment that course through him like pleasant electrocutions every time he notices the glimmer can’t be good for his continuing function (although perhaps that infused sense of something he is incredibly unfamiliar with that simultaneously occurs counterbalances it nicely: belonging).

 

The electric gem sits, centralised and mostly squared (it’s therefore more rectangular, but to Silicon Hell with semantics) in a deep, silvery band of brushed metal, matte and largely smooth. He supposes he could liken it to a tired titanium if he wasn’t so inordinately fond of it, although he’s fully aware that it isn’t, coming as it has from a barren planetoid they’d visited seven months prior. It’s slightly darker in parts, a monochromatic, patchy kaleidoscope. He knows every micrometre of every flaw, and cares about precisely none of them. 

 

It really shouldn’t work – in an ideal world, it would have been crafted in unmarked platinum, the stone perfectly set (and most definitely not very slightly wobbling in its feature), the hues of the metal aligned in perfect clarity and with total continuity – a fact that its creator had sheepishly acknowledged upon its bequeathing.

 

_“I know it isn’t perfect, yeah, but if I keep filin’ the smeggin’ thing it’ll be unwearable – besides, we’re not perfect, are we?”_

 

Oh, they were far from it – they were order versus chaos, ambition against stagnation, selfishness contra selflessness, a symphony of organ music over a blaze of Rastabilly Skank; the ultimate mish-mash of culture and personality that had somehow managed to breed something akin to harmony, and had resulted in the only true happiness Rimmer had ever experienced.

 

Lister was most certainly wrong on one count, though – it was the most perfect damned thing he’d ever owned, resplendent with meaning, indicative of the warmth that was now at the core of his death. It spelled a love that it had taken him over three thousand millennia to cultivate, and that he would be beyond happy to have hypothetically continue for another three thousand.

 

His peripheral vision notes Lister in the doorway, one hand holding dispenser forty-eight’s prawn phaal, the other being used to lean casually. 

 

“Are you starin’ at it _again?_ ” His tone is indulgent, coloured with amusement, softness.

 

Rimmer’s gaze doesn’t remotely deviate. 

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

Lister chuckles quietly. It’s a gentle sound, intimate, and it illuminates the most desolate corners of Rimmer’s neurotic psyche.

 

“Yer sure? Because I could _swear_ you were starin’ – still are, actually.”

 

“Perhaps you should go and check in with the medibot, Listy – your eyes clearly aren’t what they used to be.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Lister shakes his head, grinning.

 

“Smegger. Good job I love ya.”

 

If the hologram’s gaze blurs slightly at the words, the ring he wears becoming a shimmering haze of warm blue and _melange_ grey, he makes no mention of it. He doesn’t directly answer, but the unconscious, genuine smile that paints upon his features is response enough for the Scouser.

 

“Are you coming to bed soon?”

 

“Mm,” Lister accedes around a mouthful of substandard curry. “Gonna go munch this and watch a bit of zero-gee in the cinema. Won’t be long. You could come, if yer like. Staring’s starin’ anywhere, yeah? Might even let ya snog me in the back row.”

 

The offer is punctuated by a cheeky wink, and with a final glance at his ring, the hologram at last looks at the man that equates to his everything. He doesn’t need to avert his gaze to the hand that holds the cheap foil container of Indian to know that the fourth finger is dominated by a complementary band (the gem a rich, imperfect black, the band a similar fusion of amalgam gunmetal). They’d vaguely discussed swapping them, to incorporate a vestige of each other’s trademark colour to their immediate selves, but ultimately they’d decided that they were both rather unconventional, and that smeg it, this shit shouldn’t have worked anyway but that they were very much delighted that it was doing so, and that if their romance hadn’t compromised their identities thus far, they should probably stick to a winning formula.

 

 _“Together but separate, yeah?”_ Lister had murmured, smiling. _“I’m never gonna like smeggin’ telegraph poles, you’re never gonna be a fan of eight-ball, but bugger it, it’s all beautiful anyway.”_

 

“On one condition: I get to not stare at yours too.”

 

A bright grin that was worth any amount of uncultured football viewing on Rimmer’s part struck the Liverpudlian.

 

“Brutal. C’mon, husband!”

 

Rimmer subtly shivered, a tingle of _warm_ and _happy_ and _finally loved_ writing an ode to contentedness along the length of his spinal cord. They were each other’s own men, absolutely, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t occasionally alright to sacrifice his good taste in order to lengthily peruse the wedding rings that meant the universe to him, and to enjoy time with the man who’d spent months crafting them.

 

… He’d make damn sure the wonderful bastard spent at least half an hour listening to elevator classics tomorrow, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have any specific rings in mind for these two when I wrote this, but I've sort of found what I had the mental images of, if you'd like to take a peek! 
> 
> Lister's: https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1wR8ZdlUSMeJjSszbq6zerFXaB/Square-Black-font-b-Onyx-b-font-font-b-Stone-b-font-Thick-Band-font-b.jpg 
> 
> Rimmer's: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f8/83/e9/f883e9f36c04441c2e4554f9ca65039d.jpg
> 
> (It's basically those, with a darker, brushed steel kind of look, and the oddities I've mentioned in the metal. They're both remarkably plain, but given that A. Lister had to make them and B. These two really aren't ones for jewellery, it makes far more sense that they're that way.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you thought - it's been smegging *years* since I've posted anything Dwarf-related!


End file.
